


Veritas vos liberabit

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Backstory, F/M, First Kiss, Medical School, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Five significant moments of Bedelia and Hannibal as medical students. And one promise of things to come.





	Veritas vos liberabit

_**Introduction** _

The screen in the front of the auditorium comes alive, an enlarged picture of blood cells colours the semi darkness of the hall pink. Bedelia’s eyes focus on the slide, recognising the know parts of the cells and trying to locate the impostors. She has quickly grown to enjoy the case studies, much more informative than mere textbooks and, most importantly, challenging to her. Unfortunately, the most challenging thing at the moment is the chatter, making it difficult for her to focus on the lecture.

“Why haven’t we seen him last semester?” the girl sitting next to Bedelia utters in not so hushed tones to her neighbour.

“He is from Europe and he spent last year there,” the other girl responds excitingly and there is a collective hum of appreciation for the exotic origin of the mysterious boy.

Bedelia strives to concentrate on distinguishing the lymphocytes among the particles on the picture and makes a note on her pad.

“Apparently, he is some sort of a prince,” the girl continues, her voice turning high-pitched at the last word.

“Come on, Laura, don’t be ridiculous,” the first girl scorns the absurd gossip.

“Why wouldn’t he be? Almost everyone is royalty in Europe,” the high tone turns overly solemn and the _reasoned_ statement is met with a grave nod of agreement.

Bedelia tries hard not to roll her eyes, but the corner of her mouth turns up amused nonetheless. Whatever the response was, it is drown by the lecture’s voice bumming all of a sudden louder.

“What would the next course of action?” he pauses, eyes scanning the auditorium and falling, no surprise, on Bedelia’s neighbour, “Miss Browne?”

The girls is startled, her concentration vanished somewhere along the presentation of the symptoms.

“Order blood tests?” she does her best to save her face but fails.

“It would be a redundant repetition. It has been done already,” the lecturer tilts his head in disappointment, “Miss Du Maurier?” his eyes now move to land on Bedelia.

“Out rule malignancy,” Bedelia states confidently.

“Yes, that’s right,” he gives her a nod of approval, continuing the assessment.

The girls next to her fall silent, probably dreaming of the European prince.

 

It seems there is no escaping silly noises today. Bedelia peers over her notes in the cool space of the reading room, but her concentration is once again broken by a faint sound of giggles coming from the passage between the journal stands. She re-reads the same sentence again, annoyed at the disturbance and feeling like she was in high school again. At least they will be gone soon; it is Friday after all and students are not known to linger in the library. That is why it is Bedelia’s favourite time to study.

Soon enough, as predicted, the room grows still, the swift movement of her pen against the paper being the only sound stirring the air. Bedelia relaxes, eager to finish reading the next chapter on eukaryotes and conclude her notes. Yet, despite the quietude, she senses something out of the ordinary, unsettling her routine. She lifts her head, eyes inspecting the familiar room and expected empty tables. But not all of them are empty; she is surprised to see another student forgoing beer in favour of books. Or maybe not books at all; Bedelia catches the young man staring at her intently, the volume in front of him looking like a mere prop. She moves her head at once, retreating behind the tall stack of books on her table, so she can observe him, hopefully unnoticed.

Sharp features and keen eyes, he looks slightly older than her, but she has never seen him around campus before. He does not give the impression of being like the other students; Bedelia scrutinises his blazer, making him appear more mature and slightly out of place. Suddenly, she recalls the conversation she overheard this morning, a mysterious student from Europe. She hates to give in to the gossip, but they were right, he is _handsome_ ; she tries to discern the colour of his brilliant eyes but is unable to do so without revealing her stare.

He continues to gaze in her direction and Bedelia’s curiosity lights up with force. She wonders if his personality matches the slick exterior.

 

**_Thesis statement_ **

_Gone to lunch._

Hopelessly, Bedelia turns the knob, ignoring the note stuck to the glass door over the assigned office hours. It is known that Professor Keane treats them rather loosely and the only certain thing is his usual early lunch on Thursdays. And she has just missed him.

_Damn it._

She raps on the door, more out of annoyance at herself than hope of getting an answer.

“Can I help?” a man’s voice sounds behind her, no doubt eager to come to her rescue and win favours. _How irritating._

Bedelia turns swiftly, ready to dismiss the suitor, sure riposte sharpening on her tongue, but stops, startled as the mysterious student from the library stands in front of her.

Brown eyes, she guessed it right; she is now able to confirm her assumptions, looking at him up closely. His cheekbones appear even sharper, eagerness shining through his smile.

“I was looking for Professor Keane,” she finds her words again, “And you are not him, so I am afraid there is nothing you can do for me.”

His good looks aside, she is still bothered by the sudden intrusion.

“That is correct,” he states surely, his enthusiasm not wavered. His voice is smooth, but there are rough edges of a faint accent indicating his foreign origin; it is very _pleasant_.

“But if you wish to leave something for the Professor,” he continues, motioning to the paper in her hands, “I can be of service.”

He’s very observant, she concludes; it stirs her interest anew.

“Unless you know how to walk through glass or pick a lock,” she retorts, “I do not think you can help me.”

“That would be a very impressive feat,” he smiles at her comment, “But I guess we have to settle for a key.”

To mark his words, he takes out a key from his pocket and slides it into the lock.

“Thank you-” Bedelia utters hesitantly as he opens the door for her.

“Hannibal,” he introduces himself at once and lets her pass by him. She quickly enters the office and places her paper on the desk.

“I’m Bedelia,” she says upon exiting, as he closes the door anew. She offers her hand and he responds with a firm handshake. His skin is unusually warm; the sensation lingers on her skin even after their hands part.

“It is nice to meet you, Bedelia,” he puts a subtle emphasis on her name as if he was tasting each syllable on his tongue, enjoying the way it feels on his lips.

They walk together down the corridor; he is much taller than her, but she holds her own, her steps keeping up with his.

“Psychotic spectrum disorder,” he nods to the book remaining in her hands, “Rather unusual choice for a second-year student.”

“Not as unusual as a student having a copy of the key to a teacher's office,” she ripostes, making him smile again.

“Professor Keane heard that I was doing anatomy drawings in Paris. I am assisting him with his next book,” he explains.

“I intend to specialise in psychiatry,” Bedelia returns, more at ease, “I like to expand my knowledge any chance I get.”

“Perhaps you would be interested in Alison Young’s articles. They are great case studies. I have always found those interesting.”

“Are you planning to specialise in psychiatry too?” she asks, taking a mental note of the name.

“No, surgery actually,” Hannibal stops when they reach the end of the corridor and faces Bedelia, his eyes unexpectedly wistful, “I am sorry, but I am late for a lecture.”

There is genuine regret in his voice as though he would rather remain here, talking to her.

“I hope to see you again, Bedelia,” he bids her goodbye and disappears around the corner in few quick strides.

Bedelia watches him go, then turns the other way, towards her own lecture hall.

Somehow, she is certain that they will.

 

_**Relevant facts** _

“Come on, Bedelia. It will be fun.”

Bedelia gathers the dirty cups from her table, ignoring the insisting tone of her unexpected visitor.

“It’s Friday. You need to relax occasionally,” her friend presses on.

She gives her a side glance; she doubts they have the same definition of what is considered relaxing.

“You are top of our year, surely you can take an evening off.”

“And I did not get there by acing beer pong, Dawn,” Bedelia states sourly, placing the dishes in the sink.

“But it’s only October, you have to live a little.”

Bedelia looks at her friend in her party-ready stance; short black dress, matching the colour of her curls, her elaborate make-up looking so effortlessly as if she woke up with it. She hadn’t; Bedelia saw her bare state on early morning lectures.

“You will not stop talking, until I say yes,” she concludes with a resigned sigh.

“Yes!” Dawn exclaims in triumph, “Let your hair down. I mean, literally,” she points to Bedelia’s customary tight ponytail.

Perhaps it won’t be that bad, Bedelia reasons, letting Dawn drag her to her bedroom to change.

 

The cab stops in front of the house and Bedelia already rethinks her decision. Dawn adjusts her short dress as they leave the car, making Bedelia feel under dressed in her jeans and a wrap neck top. The air is crisp but surprisingly warm for this time of the year; the brightly coloured leaves twinkle under the illumination streaming from the open door. The party has already spilled outside, each partygoer easily recognised by a red cup in their hand, like a bright calling beacon for the newly arriving. They manoeuvre their way to the main door and are overwhelmed by sudden heat of bodies and sound of base coming from invisible speakers.

“Isn’t this great?” Dawn shrieks happily over the volume of music, but Bedelia begs the differ. She does not know why she was expecting something more civilised from medical school students.

Dawn’s screeches intensify as she spots a group of friends and disappears in the crowd. Bedelia surveys the gathering, seeing familiar faces among the sea of strangers, but no one she would particularly enjoy interacting with.

“Here,” Dawn returns as suddenly as she left and shoves a plastic cup in Bedelia’s hand, “Drink and relax.”

She glimpses at the brown, foamy liquid, swirling in the cup; she has never been a beer enthusiast, but this barely qualifies as beer. Having done her friend duty, Dawn gets swept away by the crowd once more; Bedelia does not think she will be seeing her soon. She walks slowly through the living room, passing by people talking or dancing, depending on the state of inebriation. She gives her own drink another wary look and places the untouched cup on the nearest surface.

The gossip centre emerges over the dining room counter where a group of girls chatter in rushed voices while stirring drinks. Their interests get a sudden boost, stares shifting to the other side of the room and Bedelia’s gaze follows unconsciously to where a cluster of people separates to reveal her newest acquaintance. Hannibal foregone his academic seriousness in favour of plain jeans and a shirt. Both fitting him quite nicely, Bedelia notes, giving him a thorough regard. And she is not the only one; Hannibal is alone for only a brief moment when a girl approaches him, followed closely by another, scrimmaging for his attention. It is like watching a National Geographic documentary; females fighting over the prime male. Yet Bedelia would rather experience it from the comfort of her apartment, she once again reconsiders her decision to come here.

As the girls continue to ogle their prey, she makes her way to the back of the house, finding a door leading to the garden. A welcomed surge of cool air pours over her skin as she steps outside. The garden is empty, the party has not managed to venture this far. Bedelia sits on the bench, inhaling deeply and considering the quickest way to get a cab, when she senses someone standing next to her.

“Is this seat taken?” Hannibal asks innocently, two cups in his hand.

“No,” Bedelia responds almost automatically while wondering how he managed to follow her so quickly.

With a pleased smile, Hannibal sits down next to her and offers her one of the drinks.

“Thank you, but-” she searches for a politely way to decline another serving of tepid beer, but she finds no murky fluid in her cup, but an inviting glimmer of ruby red.

“I thought you might enjoy wine better,” he remarks, seeing her confused stare.

“I did not see any wine bottles around,” she gives him a sceptical look.

“There weren’t any. I sneaked into the liquor cabinet, a surprisingly decent selection,” he confesses with a self-satisfied grin, “I figured no one will notice a bit of wine missing.”

“I am sure they won’t,” Bedelia agrees while the music in the house changes from current dance hits to Debbie Harry singing about confusion of love. Someone must have discovered a hidden record collection.

“And thank you,” she raises her cup and Hannibal does the same, looking utterly delighted with her praise.

The sharp taste of cherries tingles on her tongue as she takes a sip, the alcohol slowly travelling to her head, making it feel significantly lighter, a welcome unwinding.

“You are missing out on the fun,” Bedelia nods towards the door. The volume of the party has increased significantly, either due to the new playlist or a fresh supply of alcohol.

“Not much to miss, I am sure you can agree,” he notes, leisurely swirling the cup in his hand.

“I am certain a lot of girls are already dropping their shoes in hope of finding the prince again,” the words slip from her lips before she bites her tongue, becoming loose in tandem with her mind. She scorns herself for giving in to hearsay so easily and gives her companion a cautious glance. But Hannibal is smiling widely.

“Then they will be very disappointed when they find out I’m just a count.”

“Really?” Bedelia smiles back, convinced he is joking.

“Yes,” he states with all seriousness, “Well, my father was a count. I guess there’s a grain of truth in some gossip.”

The lightness is deflated from Bedelia’s mind and she takes another sip of the wine; she wonders if he has heard anything about her.

“Professor Keane spoke very highly of you,” he says as if sensing her doubts, “I think he secretly wishes to sway you towards respiratory.”

“My mind is set on psychiatry,” she responds, feeling at ease again, fresh course of alcohol humming happily in her veins.

“Why psychiatry?” he asks with genuine interest.

“I find the human mind intriguing and largely unexplored. It holds no limits it seems, unlike the body. I wish to traverse these limits,” she explains, finishing her drink.

Hannibal nods, looking captivated by her words.

“I would consider it an honour having you scrutinise my mind,” he proclaims, making it sound like a luring proposal, rather than a flimsy pick-up line. There is definitely more to her colleague than meets the eye.

“I would rather not to find myself in need of your surgical skills and under your knife,” she counters.

“Never,” he asserts with strange conviction, making her chuckle.

Her hair falls over her eye; it has been a while since she wore it down and she brushes the lock away, tossing it over her shoulder. Hannibal’s stare widens, eyes turning a darker shade or, so it appears to Bedelia; she considers it a trick of the faded light coming from the glass door.

“Another drink?” he points to her empty cup.

“An empty bottle might not go so unnoticed. Are you willing to take that risk?”

“Always,” he grins at her. It is strangely alluring.

They spent the whole night talking. Bedelia does not remember when was the last time, if ever, that she found herself feeling so comfortable with someone. Or if she ever enjoyed such a stimulating conversation. The hours pass quickly, and the house is almost empty when they finally leave their spot on the bench. Hannibal calls her a cab and escorts her to its door, biding her goodbye, a perfect gentleman to the end.

Once the car is on its way, Bedelia smiles to herself. Dawn was right after all; she needed this evening.

 

_**Proposed solution** _

“Is it this seat taken?”

Bedelia raises her head from her notes upon hearing a familiar voice and sees Hannibal looking back at her from a distance and smiling. As the finals drew near, the library becomes more and more crowded, the reading room no longer reserved for them alone. Their evening study sessions have become a habit throughout the year; Bedelia enjoys their shared silence, quiet sound of turning pages and pencil scratching, interspersed with stolen glances and casual smiles. At many occasions, they finish their sessions with a cup of coffee; Hannibal’s vast knowledge includes places with the strongest brew. He enjoys bringing her small offerings, especially pastries from a French patisserie downtown. Her favourite bakery, but she has no idea how he could possibly know that.

They close the library together every Friday evening. Hannibal is as hard working as her, even though the gossip circulating the halls tells the stories of his many extra curriculum _activities_. She does know how much truth is in these whispers or why she listens to them in the first place. She is not interested in a relationship after all, and if she fancies a pleasure of someone’s company, she is not looking to be the conquest.

But she enjoys his company and their conversations, as clearly so does he.

“I think it’s time for a break.”

Bedelia blinks, her focus broken without a warning by a voice over her shoulder. She rubs her eyes and looks at her watch; somehow another hour has passed. Hannibal perches at the now vacant chair next to her and beams at her expectantly; she is not sure while he announces his plans to her. She gazes at him, puzzled.

“I mean, you should take a break,” he clarifies, seeing her comprehension impaired by the intense reading session.

“Oh,” she says, his intention sinking in at last, “no, I am fine, thank you.”

“No, you have done enough for tonight,” he persists, “you should eat something. Come on.”

He closes her book before she gets a chance to protest and stands firmly by her chair, waiting for her to gather her things. Her head feels woozy when she stands after being seated for many hours; perhaps Hannibal is right, she should get some fresh air at the very least.

The building is almost empty as they make their way to the front door; only students with most dedication, or last-minute panic, remain, small dots of light punctuating long lines of dark tables.

“Do you like Italian food?” Hannibal asks as he holds the door open for her.

“Yes, why?” her eyes narrow as she gives him a doubtful stare.

“Great,” he pronounces, “I know a lovely place.”

Bedelia, too tired to argue and actually famished, lets herself be led away from the building. She is expecting him to take her to any of the usual student bistros, but his sure steps guide them beyond the campus and into a small street with a tiny restaurant hidden on its corner.

“I didn’t realise we are going for a proper _dinner_ ,” Bedelia is wary as he opens the door for her, revealing a cosy interior, interspersed by tables with chequered tablecloth and small bouquets of flowers on each of them.

“It is not a fancy place, but the food makes up for it,” Hannibal reassures her while they are escorted to a table which appears to be his usual.

Her speculations are soon confirmed when a jovial, middle-aged man approaches their table and welcomes Hannibal with a smile and strong hand shake. They start to converse in quick Italian and Bedelia is impressed by Hannibal’s language skills.

“Miss Bedelia, lovely to meet you,” the man turns to shake her hand, as though he has been waiting to meet her for a long time. She glances at Hannibal curious to why he has told the man about her at all, but he gives no explanation, only a brief smile.

A few more Italian words between the owner and Hannibal follow before the man offers them another smile and leaves.

“I ordered for us, I hope you don’t mind. The ravioli is excellent here.”

“No, that sounds great,” Bedelia’s eyes inspect the bistro and she deliberates how many of his conquests were brought here, “I am sure others have enjoyed it.”

Hannibal’s mouth twitches as he grasps the true meaning of her words.

“I have never brought anyone here,” he admits, looking as though her remark has wounded him somehow.

Bedelia regrets her words; it is not her place to comment on his love life. But perhaps it is not why it has bothered him. A blush looms beneath her skin; they fall silent and she feels like an awkward teenager unable to cope with her first crush. She looks at their hands resting on the table, detecting electric-like specks setting off in between the mere inches that separate them.

_Were they always there?_

Something crosses Hannibal’s face, a thought, a hesitation, and his gaze shifts to the wall. He looks almost shy, so unlike his usual self-assured manner. His hair falls across his forehead and Bedelia has a sudden urge to brush it away.

The tension swirls between them but deflates when a waiter arrives with their drinks, followed shortly by their food. They savour their meal without much words, only occasionally sharing remarks on their current workload. The ravioli is indeed excellent.

 

“I really enjoyed the food, thank you,” Bedelia says as they head back to the campus, bright moon on the dark, clear sky illuminating their way.

“I am glad,” Hannibal smiles, “I only wish their menu included gnudi. They are my favourite. I would love to make them for you someday.”

“You cook?” another surprise, she has barely scratched the surface of his puzzle.

“Yes,” he nods, “Or I try, given the limited facilities,” he adds, almost humbly, but Bedelia is certain he is able to prepare full meals on a hotplate.

“I would like that,” she acknowledges his offer and his smile lights up with vigour.

“Perhaps I could make some arrangements after the finals,” he wastes no time cashing in on her approval.

Bedelia’s heart sinks within her chest, tongue heavy in her mouth. Tonight might not have been a date, or so she tells herself, but this definitely would. And strangely, she is not opposed to this notion. However…

“I am sorry, but I can’t,” as soon as the words leave her mouth, the gleaming light of hope in Hannibal’s eyes dims at once, as if taken out by a violent gush of wind.

She can see the rushing thoughts reflected in his eyes, amassing possible reasons behind her rejection.

“I am going to France for the next semester, but I will be leaving sooner, to spend the holidays with my family there,” she explains.

She does not know why she hasn’t mentioned it before, perhaps she thought it was none of his concern. Or perhaps she was too selfishly enjoying their friendship and did not want it to end prematurely.

“I understand,” he still looks crestfallen but puts his composure back in place.

They continue walking in silence. The air between them remains charged, too many unspoken sentiments clinging on stubbornly and begging to be released.

“I hope these months away will help me get some perspective and decide on my future,” the admission is as unexpected to her as it is to Hannibal; she has not said it to anyone before.

“My parents have been pressuring me to ‘ _settle down’_ , as they call it, as though my only purpose in medical school is to find a suitable candidate for a husband,” she feels anger pouring through her words, bottled up and fermenting for too long.

Hannibal stops and faces her, his eyes regaining some of their shine as he drinks in her words to the last drop.

“You should not settle for anything in life, Bedelia. You deserve only the best things,” he declares solemnly, strange yearning and determination in his eyes as if he was reading to give her the world on a plate.

His words warm her, another unforeseen occurrence.

“Thank you,” she smiles at him and he returns it twofold.

They resume walking and Hannibal escorts her to her apartment as he did so many evenings before.

“I hope you will find what you are looking for,” Hannibal says as they reach her block.

“Did you find what you were looking for while in Europe?” she enquires, stopping in front of the steps.

“I did, but not in Europe.”

He bids her goodnight and walks away. Bedelia’s heart flutters all the way up to her apartment.

 

**_Specific strategies_ **

As the finals end and the pressure alleviates, the campus gradually turns into a ghost town. Bedelia normally enjoys the empty corridors and quiet streets, but now something feels amiss. She has the library to herself as she catches up on the latest journal of the psychiatric society before her departure, but her eyes keep darting to the side, expecting to see her usual study companion.

She has not seen Hannibal since the evening she told him she was leaving. No doubt he has been preoccupied with his own exams, she tells herself. Or maybe he has been purposely avoiding her, she tries not to let these notions settle in her mind. She has better things to focus on, her upcoming journey being the most important one. Still, as she leaves the library behind, unprecedented nostalgia takes over her mind.

Lost in thought, she does realise it has started raining until she opens the front door. A fitting ending to her foolish musings. She braces herself for getting soaked when she hears her name being called out from a distance. The hall has been empty, it’s clearly another trick of her mind, sentimentality does not serve her. But when the voice sounds again, she closes the door back, turning despite herself and sees Hannibal rushing down the stairs. The sight of him makes her strangely content.

“I thought I had missed you,” he says upon catching up to her, “Congratulations on your results. Top of your year as anticipated.”

“Thank you. And the same to you,” she responds; she has not so secretly enquired about his scores earlier that week.

“It has been a challenging couple of weeks,” he admits, confirming her suspicions but not completely dispersing the other thoughts.

“You should be at the bar then, celebrating with the rest.”

“I would rather celebrate with you,” he utters, almost shyly,” Besides, I have something for you.”

He reaches into his bag and retrieves a brand-new journal.

“For your new start abroad,” he hands her the volume.

The notebook is leather bound with a matching tie. It looks expensive. She notices something engraved in its corner.

_BDM_

Her initials. She skims the cover and touches the letters.

“Hannibal, you shouldn’t have.”

“You need to record your adventures somewhere,” he persists with a smile.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” she concedes and puts the journal away in her bag.

The rain continues its assault against the glass, now with fresh force; Bedelia looks at the windows and frowns.

“May I escort you home?” Hannibal asks and takes the umbrella hanging from his bag as a seal to his offer.

Bedelia nods in silent accord and he opens the door for her, then unfolds the umbrella and offers his arm. Her hand slips around his forearm and he pulls her closer, shielding her from the rain.

They walk slowly towards her apartment, the only two people braving the sudden downpour, but Bedelia no longer notices the rain. Hannibal’s hold on her arm is secure and his body radiates heat, warming her in turn. His closeness is soothing.

He escorts her all the way up to the front door of the building where the roof provides cover from the deluge. As he closes his umbrella, she ponders why he has never asked to come in. Why he has never tried to kiss her. It has been obvious that he wants too. The warmth of his body radiates still, and it is very inviting on this cold evening…

“Would you like to come in for a drink and warm yourself?” she proposes, her eyes now shining with hunter’s purpose.

“No, but thank you for the offer,” he declines politely and Bedelia blinks in confusion. His words say one thing, but his eyes keep saying something else.

Never one to turn away from a set goal, Bedelia steps closer, wraps her hand around his neck, pulling him forward until his lips meet hers and kisses him. Hannibal pauses for only a fraction of a second, then his lips respond to hers, just as she knew they would. But the touch of his mouth on hers is tender, _adoring_. Bedelia closes her eyes as the kiss sends unforeseen thrill through her body. His lips explore hers so gently, like they have all the time in world and he wants to spend it tasting her. With all her lovers, she has always been the one in control and now it slips from under her fingers, or rather lips, in an alarming speed.

She presses herself to him, opening his mouth with her lips, deepening the kiss and reclaiming her hold on him. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her back with fervour, but it has the exact opposite effect, only making her come undone more. Her whole body sinks forward into his arms and she feels something melting inside of her, a liquid sensation expanding through her body.

Suddenly, this feels like everything she wants. Her heart demands more, fluttering against her rib cage like a bird on its first flight, but her reason stubbornly denies it its freedom. This is not what she _needs_ , not now. She touches his cheek to slow the kiss down; their lips come apart, but she holds her mouth close to his, still sharing the same breath and unwilling to move away. When she finally does, she sees his his eyes burning with lust and something else she cannot name.

“I am sorry, but I need to pack,” she averts her gaze, the lie as transparent as the drops of rain falling behind them.

“Of course,” he responds, polite as ever, despite the heated longing radiating from his whole body, “I hope you have a safe journey.”

“Thank you for the journal. And enjoy your holidays,” the words feel fake, so trivial in comparison to the storm of feelings within her, but he smiles at her nevertheless.

“Until next time,” he gives her one last fervent stare and turns to leave.

She watches him walk away, engulfed by the cloak of rain, slowly fading into grey nothingness. His kiss keeps burning on her lips and seeping into her blood, a small spark in her heart ready to ignite.

 

_**Finalising the case** _

The sound of the flight safety announcements is muffled in Bedelia’s ears as the medication takes effect, relieving her anxiety. Absentmindedly, she reaches for her handbag to find her earphones; her hand rummages through the depths of the larger that usual bag and suddenly brushes over something smooth and leathery. It takes her a moment to recognise the object; the journal Hannibal gave her. She packed it away that night and forgot about it. She wishes she could say the same about the rest of that evening.

Her hand wraps around the journal and she takes it out, giving it another look, fingers casually tracing her initials on the cover. But now she notices something she hasn’t before; a loose sheet of paper peering over the edges. Curiously, she opens the notebook to remove the page. Her eyes fall on its contents and she swallows a gasp. It is a drawing of her, sitting in the library; her visage recreated in painstaking detail, every line of her face, every strand of her hair springing to life on the page. Each stroke of the pencil looks like a caress on her skin. It’s stunning.

Underneath the picture, she finds a message written in Hannibal’s elegant cursive.

_Until our next meeting, Doctor Du Maurier._

_Yours always,_

_Hannibal._

Despite the drug cruising through her veins, her heart beat suddenly quickens, all the sensations she was attempting to suppress, flooding back in. Her fingers slowly follow the lines of the intricate drawing.

She wonders if she too has already found what she was searching for.

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for human--tragedy on tumblr who won our electric-couple giveaway and requested Bedelia and Hannibal in college. ♥  
> I tried to tie it, even if loosely, to what I have established in my fic "inveniet viam aut faciet"; some details have been changed, hopefully for the better.  
> The title means "truth will free you" and it's the motto of the John's Hopkins University (and many others apparently). Thank you to kmo for suggesting this naming method (I always struggle with titles). The motto feels somehow fitting for them.  
> The parts are named after segments of medical case studies.
> 
> Feedback is love!


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